Mother
by BoogityWhup16
Summary: Most of the boys in the lodging house have no mother. There is a girl, however, who is sort of filling in, a sort of pretend mother. Sort of based on Wendy, and my own mother, who is very cool. Please R&R!
1. Default Chapter

Hey! I thought about this one the FIRST time I watched the movie. I just thought, 'how odd, to see a girl our age as a pretend mother to all of those boys, instead of a girlfriend' Just tell me if I should keep it going, or suggestions, or what you thought of it. But do read it all. There is a footnote about skirts at the bottom of the page. Just thought it would sort of help elaborate on what kind of character Kat is. Please R&R!  
  
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Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, nor the 'mother' idea. Newsies belongs to Disney and the 'mother' thing comes from 'peter pan'. I own the character Kat so please don't use her without my permission.  
  
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Kat threaded her way through the sleeping boys, picking up dirty clothes, straitening up furniture, putting Race's cigars back in the tin cup he always insisted they were supposed to be in.  
  
Katerina was their official mother. It sometimes appaled her how much she sounded like one too, but she was rather like Wendy was with the lost boys, just their mother where there never, or seldom, was one.   
  
She would have 'aww'd but kept back the noise, the poor boys needed their sleep. Itey had fallen off of his bottom bunk again and was shivering on the floor. Kat helped him drag himself back into bed, and left the room, going to grab her sewing bag.   
  
She didn't know how she evolved to this. She used to be so impatient, so unsure of herself, but then, she had a mother, she knew what it was like to be kissed and cared for, and many of these boys didn't have that. Never mind if they were snotty, she loved them, never batted an eye at their first flirtatious remarks. She was simply there.  
  
She was, also like Wendy, overly motherly stereotypical sometimes, but she didn't mind playing the old woman, the Mary Poppins, or the strict governess, either.   
  
She woke up earlier than the boys, about a half hour, and went to bed later. She knew that people always said the 'job' was melodramatically thankless. They were wrong. How often had the short girl told the toughend Manhattan Newsboy leader to give her a kiss before he left and he gave her a peck on the cheek and a "Good-bye Kat."? How many times had she told Spot Conlon to tuck in his shirt and stand up strait, and he obeyed?  
  
"I've been at this too long." She muttered as she passed her darning needle over Snipeshooter's well worn stockings. She sighed. Next came the shirts, and their holes, from the climbing over, and running around, and goodness knows what else. Then the pants.   
  
She rubbed her eyes. Life here was...she searched for the diplomatic word, and gave up. WEIRD. That was the word for it. So was the reason she was here.  
  
She had been grousing to everyone that day and had ended up in an old bead and antique shop in Alexandra, North Dakota. She went to that particular store quite often during the summer, and the owner, a kind woman, knew her very well. Every time she went in there was always something new that was shown to her first.   
  
That day was the first of the summer and Katerina had come in, complaining about school, homework, evil Biology teachers, and, of course, Males as a species.  
  
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"Hello Kat, how's it feel to be out of school finally?" Mrs. Harmon, the owner, asked kindly.  
  
"Oh, good heavens, I don't think I could have stood another minute of it. My teachers are all out to get me! I swear it! It's some communist plot! The HOMEwork could not ALL be done at HOME if one wanted to remain sane, and I am so incredibly sick of high school boys!"  
  
Mrs. Harmon raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the boys?" Mrs. Harmon usually just liked to tackle one thing at a time.  
  
"Well, they seem to be stuck somewhere on the road between being a sweet, imaginative, granted, slightly too hyperactive, little boys, and nice, mature, mostly calm, MEN. They aren't even close to being mature but they always want to act like it. ESPECIALLY around girls. No, let me rephrase that, females. We don't have to confine ourselves to a specific species here, it's anything of that gender that has the ability to move." She sighed heavily. "I need a root beer." Kat seemed to have finished venting and plunked two dollars on the front counter.  
  
"Well, hon, I'm not sure I can fix your problems right now, but I think I can cheer you up."  
  
Kat looked up from gulping down her root beer. She was obviously not convinced. "Oh yeah? How?"  
  
"Well, I got in this yesterday, quite old, but real pretty, and I thought you might like it." Mrs. Harmon continued, unperturbed. She started rumminging around under the counter and came up a few minutes later with a small package.  
  
In the package was the most beautiful broach Kat had ever seen. It had tiny little violets painted on the sides, roses in the middle and the background was black. The flowers, or the paint, or something, took on a certain sheen, a sort of golden-silver glitter whenever you looked at it, and the background was not mearly black, but some undifinable gray, so close to black that it was hard to tell, but it had small flecks of silvery in it.   
  
Kat drew in a breath. "Where did you get this?"  
  
Mrs. Harmon shrugged. "I got it at a garage sale, and I never got the chance to talk to the people who were selling it. It really has nothing in it but some micah to give it that sheen. It really isn't old enough to squeeze any extra money out of it, or at least as far as I can tell. It doesn't seem to hold any large value."  
  
"How much were you planning on asking for it?" Kat wanted it badly. I was almost like it was calling her.  
  
"Twenty four, but since you're feelin' so down, I figured I'd give it to ya for eighteen."  
  
Kat threw down the money as fast as she could, her glasses nearly falling off her nose. "Done! Thank you so much Mrs. Harmon!" She yelled as she started out of the store with the tiny package in her hands.  
  
"Oh, hon?" Mrs. Harmon called, just before Kat shut the door.   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"The boys. The thing is, they want to be little boys, but everyone else wants them to be men, and they can't seem to choose one or the other. Give them some time. You either get to see the little boy, or they grow up soon enough." Mrs. Harmon smiled. "Now, get going!"  
  
Kat couldn't even wait to get into her mom's car to try it on. It was so...tempting, but the next thing that happened was the real shock of the day. She was here. Here among the smog and the despiration. That pretty thing had dragged her where someone needed her, but she lost it, or it fell of in the car, or something, and now she didn't know where it was.  
  
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Kat heard the boys in the next room being awakened by Kloppman and yelled "careful Jack" just in time to hear a loud thud and a groan.  
  
"That boy really must stop falling out of his bed or he'll break his neck." She murmured as she dropped her sewing, gathered her prematurely full skirts around her*, and walked to the kitchen to get Kloppman his coffee, which he always had after he woke up the boys. Kat smiled to herself. She sort of ran this place, no matter what everyone else said, with out her, it would probably come crashing down. She did just about everything around here, but most times she didn't mind.  
  
"Poor Wand'ring one..."  
  
It sometimes amazed her how she remembered so much of Gilbert and Sulivan, even though it had been months since she had heard it. Some of it was playing at a theater here and there, now and again, but she could never afford it, so she rather had to be content with singing to herself.  
  
She returned with the coffee in no time and went to make sure the boys weren't making a mess in the washroom.  
  
"Racetrack Higgins! pick that up this instant! I will not have you throw things on my bathroom floor. Mush, if you fling that shaving cream you are staying behind to clean it up! Do you understand?" It was mornings like this when she really felt old, although she was only 15.  
  
"Yes Ma'm." They both grumbled, Race picking up the discarded item and Mush putting away the shaving cream.  
  
Blink came up behind her with his shirt half buttoned. "Kat, I's missin' a button. Do youse have my uddah one fixed yet?"  
  
"It's 'I am', hon. And yes, I do." She walked to the other room for her sewing basket and dragged out Blink's shirt, mended for the millionth time, and brought it back to Blink.   
  
"There you are, but if you go and rip those cuffs again, I'm going to cuff YOU right upside the head!" She took the other one off of him, buttoned up the mended one, and patted the cheek of the older, and much taller, boy. "Have a nice day dear."  
  
Blink smiled and kissed her cheek. "T'anks Kat."  
  
In around ten mintues all of her boys were running outside, but she couldn't hold back her usual parting call.  
  
"If you get thrown in jail I'm not going to come and bail you out!" She stopped and smiled at the departing figures before looking in on the daily impossible task of cleaning up that horrid wash room, no matter how neat she insisted the boys be.  
  
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*Back in those days, a girl of 15 did not have a full lenght skirt, or dress, only grown women did. Kat wore full skirts for the convienience, as it made people think she was older and recieved more respect from shop keepers and the like.  
  
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Just wondering how this one was going to go. Can't call my character a mary sue, because mothers aren't. Gotcha there, didn't I? 


	2. Hobbits and Nightmares

ShoutOuts!  
  
KiwiOrange: I know, but it's so much fun. Sooner or later I'm going to be able to tell them how to eat, you know, "Eat faster, you're taking all day" or "Eat slower, you're going to make yourself sick!" Ah, all motherhood, whether real or imagined comes to it's golden moments at that point. That's what it's all about.  
  
Wisecracker88: It's not the subject, it's me that's interesting ^_^ and ain't I humble? I work at it.  
  
Gracie Jane: Oh! Huggles! *Hugs back* And exclamation points (unless trying to explain how horrible it is) are wonderful! I LOVE reviews like yours! You just make me feel warm and fuzzy all over!  
  
Race: Ahem *looks over at the computer*  
  
Yes Racy?  
  
Race: Tell da goil dat I says hi, but dat she shouldn' say anythin' bout rockin' socks around you.  
  
And why not?  
  
Race: Because ya tink too mucha yaself, dat's why!  
  
The rocking of the socks takes a lot of talent, so I hope you appreciate it.  
  
ShortAtntionSpaz: How lovely! One of the one and only great and mighty true and living SAS's characters! And mine is slightly akin to hers! Just to tell you, I'm not being sarcastic, you are brilliant! And don't worry, I won't pet a burning dog, ever again, that is.  
  
Just Groovy: Thank you for the Review! I love the fun how-cute-I-liked-it reviews, but literary critiques are also a blessing. I profusely thank you for your encouragement.  
  
Decie: Cool. Thanks. I will.  
  
*****Disclaimer***** Just by-the-by, "I Am" by Jill Phillips, yeah, it isn't mine, and neither is Newsies, so ya got nuthin' on me. *******************  
  
~Hobbits and Nightmares~  
  
It was raining hard as Kat straightened up what would be called the lobby and built up the fire in the stove. All done, with her sewing too, now almost a full hour before they descended upon her like locusts.  
  
The door opened and a blast of cold air blew in. "Hey Kat! I's done oily!"  
  
Or not.  
  
Poor Dutchy was soaked to the skin but had a huge grin on his face, quite mischievous, actually, which made Kat's response slower than it would have been. She could tell if there was even the slightest difference in one of her boys, something was up.  
  
"Come sit down, dear. I'll bring you some coffee." Kat walked off to the kitchen, but before Dutchy could move an inch he was greeted with a sharp reply.  
  
"Don't you dare get my floor wet. I scrubbed it this morning! Take off your wet clothes, take a blanket from the stack near the door, and hang your clothes on the coat pegs and hat stand. I'm washing them tomorrow."  
  
Dutchy shook his head as he obeyed. However she managed to stay one step ahead, he'd never figure out. Just a person who seemed to know you once she knew your name. He wrapped up in one of the fluffiest blankets and curled up near the stove, all the while trying to clean the rain water off of his glasses.  
  
Kat brought a steaming cup of coffee in and set it near Dutchy's feet, choosing the chair next to it and starting her knitting. It was a sweater for Spot, who had lost his earlier last month, poor boy; he could never quite get warm this time of year. "So, what are you all smiles about?" She asked, knitting needles clicking.  
  
"Well," Dutchy was blushing, oh, the complexities of the male mind. Obviously a girl, but she would let HIM tell it. "Dere's dis goil, I met about two weeks ago."  
  
"Quite taken with her, are you?" She managed to contain the laugh in her throat and merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
He took a sip of his coffee and smiled. "You would like 'er, Kat. She's really nice, and she woiks at Tibby's, as a waitress. 'Er name's Dina." He nodded his head as though that one fact was all that was needed for the world to keep turning.  
  
Kat consented to a broad smile. He was such a sweetheart. "Well, I'll have to meet her sometime, I guess."  
  
To Kat's great surprise, Dutchy answered in the affirmative. "Yeah, ya should!"  
  
Kat sat in silence for the next few minutes, listening to the good many wonderful attributes of Dina, before Bumlets opened the door, also soaked.  
  
Kat was appalled to catch Bumlets in the act of shaking out his hair like a dog. "Bumlets Rivera!" The guilty boy stood up strait and looked at the floor. "How many times have I told you to either get a hair-cut or stop doing that?"  
  
"I's sorry, Kat."  
  
"Forgiven, for the moment." She smiled at him. "Welcome back. You take off your wet things and wrap up in one of those blankets and I'll just get all of the cups and the coffee pot."  
  
Bumlets started to take off his wet things when Kat had entered the kitchen, and sighed, but just low enough so that Kat couldn't hear. "I's ready ta boist, Dutchy. I love Anna, and don't give me dat look, Dutch- face. It's just that I don't know what ta do."  
  
Dutchy tried to not pay attention, but that was slightly over the edge of impossible. "What were da ones we had narrah'd it down ta last time, exactly?" Dutchy started counting on his fingers. "Dere's da 'send a flowah'. You kicked dat one off months ago, right?"  
  
"Check."  
  
"Den dere was da 'send a note', but you thought that one was too much like a cheap novel."  
  
Bumlets shook his head. "No, it's the flowah one dat I thought was out of a cheap novel, no, wait, it's both of 'em..."  
  
"Then, there was the 'tell someone else and have them tell' but you said dat one had too many 'possible complications'." Dutchy continued.  
  
"Check."  
  
"DEN, dese are my favorite, the ones dat you thought up the night when you was drunk and was talkin' 'bout messages in bottles made from horses teeth."  
  
Cringe  
  
"Let's not bring dat up again."  
  
"De only uddah one left is the strait-on approach."  
  
Double cringe  
  
"Oh, well, maybe someday, Dutchy, maybe someday."  
  
"What's her name?" Kat was standing right behind Bumlets and Dutchy was giggling.  
  
"Anna." Bumlets replied, as if out of habit.as it, indeed, was.  
  
As more boys piled in with their blankets, and a few brought their pillows down, things got quite warm and friendly. The only real cross words for around two hours was 'CLOSE DA DOOR!' until, of course, Jack came in, looking like a storm cloud and twice as wet.  
  
"Afta'noon ta all ya Scabbahs." He muttered, profusely disgusted with the weather and the American government. He figured, when you're really mad, you have to blame something.  
  
"Did ya sell all a ya papes Jack, oah is Weasel gonna have ta make ya eat 'em?" Boots asked, resituating himself on his pillow, in the middle of a poker game with Race.  
  
"Ya know what I think Weasel should do wid dose papes?" He dropped his wet clothes on the floor and sat himself down on the floor right in front of Kat, putting his wet head on her lap. "Hey, Kat, ya miss me?"  
  
Kat moved her knitting. "Jack Kelly! You're going to get my knitting wet! Do you want Spot Conlon to be even more tempestuous at the loss of a sweater because it got wet while being knitted and then didn't fit right?"  
  
"No Kat."  
  
"Then please remove your soaked head from my lap."  
  
After said object was removed quickly there was a long, expectant silence, which was finally broken by Snipeshooter.  
  
"Hey, Kat; tell us a story." He looked genuinely bored, and curious, which was a look that Katerina could never resist. She set down her knitting and placed her hands in her lap.  
  
"Sure. What do you want it to be about?" She had several stories in mind already.  
  
"Something wid adventure." Bellowed Blink.  
  
"Something sad!" Jack put in.  
  
"Something wid just a little bit of, Romance." Bumlets muttered, receiving laughs from all of the boys.  
  
"Something wid an unsuspectin' hero." Skittery always liked the odd stories.  
  
"Something wid everything!" Boots said finally, over all the requests.  
  
"With everything? I do believe I know just the right one." The whole time Kat was wondering if copywriting existed for books that had yet to be written, and whether knowing all of the plot twists of a book that was to be printed in a long time was any hurt to sales in the future, not to mention practically memorizing a movie, or two, or three, or four.  
  
"Does it start with 'Once upon a time'?" asked Mush, not too fond of fairy tales, or bedtime stories.  
  
"No, as a matter of fact, it doesn't, and it even has a little bit of romance to it, but that comes much later in the story. I might even be able to tell it if you would be quiet."  
  
Several boys sent glares Mush's way but Kat hardly noticed. She was already starting the story.  
  
"In a Hole in the ground, lived a Hobbit,"  
  
"Hey Kat, what's a Hobbit?" Snipeshooter tugged at her skirt, curious.  
  
"If you let me tell the story, you might find out." She smiled and ruffled his hair.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"It's OK. Now, it was not a dry, sandy hole, nor a wet cold one. It was built for a Hobbit, and that meant comfort."  
  
For quite a while the young girl kept the crowd of boys entertained, and every person who managed to glance inside the window would've said that all of the boys were eating out of the palm of her hand, which was quite true. Who could ever resist a clever, sarcastic wizard, a poor unsuspecting hero, a company of treasure hunters, trolls, mysterious rings, gold-starved elves, dragons, and swords. As far as I know, no one has been able to resist them entirely as of yet. But, back to our friends.  
  
"And poor Bilbo couldn't think of the answer. He wracked his brain for the answer but none came, and just as Gollum was reaching for his throat he yelled 'Give me time!' The only problem was, he was quite nervous, as I'm sure anyone would be, but the 'Give me time!' turned, purely by accident, into a small shriek of 'TIME!', which, of course, was the answer." Kat then picked up her knitting, stood up, and started walking out of the room.  
  
Boots stood up, confused and incredulous. "That's not the end is it?"  
  
"Of course not," Kat motioned to a small clock on the wall behind the lobby desk. "But it's time for all of you to be off to bed. I'll tell you all more tomorrow night." She turned her back on a collective groan and made her way up the stairs to her room.  
  
"Imagine that." She muttered, while braiding her hair, "Who'd have thought that they loved 'The Hobbit' so much?"  
  
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Kat awoke just two hours after going to sleep. She heard something coming from the boy's room. She picked up her robe and put it over her night- dress, tying the sash and pushing strands of hair out of her face. It sounded like someone was trying to pick up something heavy, grunts and straining and small whimpers.it sounded like Snipeshooter.  
  
Kat hurried into the bunk-room, careful to make as little noise as possible, picking her way through the objects strewn about the floor. It was Snipeshooter, he looked like he was trying to lift something and could hear him muttering.in Spanish.Kat leaned forward to listen, and see if she could remember any of the words.  
  
"A la! Por fa, no! Mama! Vénganme! Tu puedes! Mama!" There were tears streaming down his face, and his hair was everywhere, matted by a cold sweat. Her baby brother used to look like this when he had nightmares, except they weren't as real as Snipe's. Kat sat on his bunk and as she smoothed back his hair he caught hold of her hand, tightly, as if to try and make her turn to stone and never move. "Te amo a ti, mama, Te amo." He was crying harder now, his tears coming faster and faster as he squeezed Kat's hand tighter and tighter.  
  
She couldn't bear to see him like this. She had heard from Bumlets that Snipe's mom, who had been Mexican, had died in a factory accident, as a large piece of machinery fell on top of her. The police and the owners had found Snipe still standing there days later, right where his mother had died. They had sent him to an orphanage, and he had managed to escape it.and some of his grief.but it still came back at night.  
  
What had she used to do with her little brother? She picked up his head and cradled it in her lap, stoking his hair.he latched on tight to her waist and wouldn't let go, and Kat's own tears began to fall. She had never had much of a voice, but her baby brother had liked this one song.  
  
Come gently lay your head, upon my chest And I will comfort you, as a mother, while you rest The tides can change so fast, but I will stay The same in past, the same in future, same today  
  
I am comfort, I am near, I am the peace That shatters all your secret fears I am lovely, I am wise, I'm the only one who knows your heart's desires Your heart's desires  
  
Come weary tired and worn, let out your sighs I will be here, no need to cry, I will show you a love that is deep, and high and wide  
  
Kat couldn't sing any more. Snipeshooter had loosened his grip around her waist and was smiling in his sleep, whispering.  
  
"Te amo a ti, mama."  
  
Kat tried to stop sobbing as she answered. "Te adoro, mi amor." She brushed her tears, and his, off of his round face. "Te adoro."  
  
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Hope ya'll liked it. I live in a Spanish speaking country, but I've never been much of a linguist so I'm not sure I got the conjugation just right, but it'll do.  
  
OK, REVIEWS! A la, por fa! It's P.O.C. (A piece of cake). All you have to do is click on the little button that says 'go' and write what you think.unless it's something mean, and then you can keep it to yourself. 


	3. Seeing Spots

A Howdy-doo and a hello to all of my reviewers and anyone else who is reading this chapter!  
  
There really isn't much to say, 'cept sorry for taking so lon' *cries into hanky* it's all my TEACHERS' fault! Curse thee all to San Francisco!  
  
Shout Outs  
  
*Dakki*  
  
Thanks, profusely. I'm always glad to have written something that someone liked. Sorry it took so darned long...but as mentioned above...oh, well. I thought she'd be pretty good at it too, and yes, Wendy...dude, she has some major sock-rockage going on...very disturbing. Billy Boyd is hot...that's only # 586 out of the 1909572938567 reasons I LOVE Lord of the Rings.  
  
*Gracie Jane*  
  
Yes! An obsessed member!!! We could use many more of these...so keep 'em coming! And, Race thanks you for abstaining from comments about rocking socks...  
  
Race: Eeep...  
  
Sorry, don't mind him. He's slightly traumatized from our SNL marathon...too much randomness all in one place, the poor boy.  
  
*ShortAtntionSpaz*  
  
Dude, I love you man. *sniffs* I feel so...appreciated... The Hobbit is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written! If I may say so...  
  
~Disclaimer~ Don't own it, but I do plan to ^_^  
  
~Chapter 3~  
  
Kat woke up the next morning, tired, and achy. She grumbled as she made her way out of bed only to discover she had slept past the boys' departure and the bathroom was a mess. The whole place smelled of urine. Disgusted, she walked farther in to assess the damage. Soap on the mirrors, she groaned, water all over the floor, she sighed, cigar ash on the sink, she roared.  
  
"KLOPPMAN!"  
  
The poor old man bounded up the stairs, or, at least, he tried, and showed up, disheveled and very much annoyed. "What is it NOW Kat?"  
  
"Why didn't you wake me up before you woke up the boys? Now, there's this unspeakable mess! I'm never going to be able to clean this up before they come back!"  
  
Kloppman looked rather sheepish, but managed to mumble something before trying to retreat peaceably.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said, dat Snipe tol' me not ta wake ya up. Says ta let ya sleep in taday."  
  
Kat sighed again. The boy was a dear, especially if he knew about last night, but without her supervision this simple everyday task seemed a bit much for the boys to complete and not make a terrible mess and she'd have to work harder today anyways. "Well, I might as well get to it." She wrinkled up her nose in annoyance. "And I'm going to kill whoever was smoking in my bathroom."  
  
Kat shlumped over to her room, and grabbed the outfit she never wore unless the need was dire...the skirt.  
  
The skirt was one of her longer skirts, or, at least, it used to be. Kat had found it nearly impossible to scrub floors in long skirts so she had taken her least favorite long skirt and cut it up to about nine or ten inches above her knees, and a short-sleeved undershirt. The overall effect would've been very cute with the pleated skirt and t-shirt, if she had still lived where she used to, but here, she looked like a street walker gone cheap...and crazy. Not even bad prostitutes wore that sort of thing.  
  
Kloppman just stared at her as she walked out of her room in her bare feet and putting up her hair. "Are you sure this is bad enough for..." Kloppman paused, "That thing?"  
  
"Yes, Kloppman, I have to meet with Melissa this afternoon and take Spot his sweater too. I don't have time to wrestle with long skirts today."  
  
"Why don't you get a pair of pants for cleaning?" Kloppman asked, still wondering how to talk her out of The Skirt.  
  
"I used to have several pairs, remember Kloppy? I always end up giving them to the boys when theirs are past repair. I gave my last pair away last week. Mush had ripped his pants right in the seat, where they simply cannot be fixed, so I gave him mine."  
  
"And they fit him?"  
  
"They were rather large on me, you forget, I never liked pants that 'fit' me."  
  
Kloppman just nodded as he dragged a large bucket of soapy water upstairs along with several rags and a scrub brush. He avoided looking at Kat and she almost laughed at the poor old man, but, before he went back downstairs he called over to Kat.  
  
"Kat, please remember, I's goin' out right now, ta see me sistah, she ain't feelin' so well, so youse oal by youseself. Ah youse gonna be OK?"  
  
"Calm down Kloppy, nobody comes around here this time of day anyways. I'll be fine."  
  
Kloppman walked off, shaking his head again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Kat stood up from the still damp floor and nodded with satisfaction, pushing stray hairs behind her ears and straitening her shirt. Everything was clean, down to the last speck, and she was going to talk to Race tonight about smoking in her bathroom. Kat's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the locked lodging house door. She raced down the stairs to the entrance and opened it to find a man in a regularly nice suit, a bow tie, and in his mid-thirties. Kat smiled. "Hello, I'm-"  
  
"MY DEAR HEAVENS!" The man yelled, quite loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear, closed his eyes and slammed the door.  
  
Kat was confused and opened the door to reveal the wide-eyed man. "Sir, what is the matter?"  
  
The man did not answer, he was far too busy trying to look everywhere but her.  
  
"Sir? Siiiir? SIR!" Kat yelled, trying to get his attention. He peaked in her direction, very pointedly, just over the top of her head.  
  
"I'm, sorry...madam, I was just, um, surprised, by your, um, attire, if, um, you'll excuse me...Ahem."  
  
I must tell you now that you got the shorter version. The original had quite a few more coughs and 'um's.  
  
Kat was confused, "My 'attire'?" She looked down at herself...  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!" She yelled, closed her eyes, and slammed the door, red with embarrassment.  
  
That poor man! He probably thought I was going to 'offer my services'! Kat thought with amazement, annoyance, and disgust as she scurried around upstairs for her longest skirt and her usual shirt. She was almost popping off shoe-buttons with her button hook on her way down the stairs and shoved the button hook in her apron pocket. She straitened her hair and opened the door, quite surprised to find the man still there. "I am SO sorry! I have the hardest time cleaning...I'm just the maid here...I don't, um, would you like to come in?" She sounded frantic, because she was, but tried, unsuccessfully, to not let it show.  
  
The poor man declined. "No, I'm sorry, if I've (cough) caught you at a bad time...but I, erm, I mean to say...I need to ask you some questions about the newsboys in this lodging house." He finished, still slightly pink, and taking a step back from Kat.  
  
"Oh, sure, anything you want...no, wait, that sounded wrong...um, what do you want to know?" Kat was babbling, and treading on thin ice, though she doubted this man would turn her into the police, even if he was really convinced she WAS a street walker.  
  
"Well, what do they do usually? What do they like, what ARE they like. Just the general once over."  
  
"Well, first off, Mr...?"  
  
"Denton, Brian Denton."  
  
"Right, first off. I was cleaning upstairs, I have a hard time with skirts so I had to wear this short one, so..."  
  
"It's OK miss, that's none of my business."  
  
Kat was extremely exasperated, but she tried to answer the question anyways. "Well, Mr. Denton, on Monday..."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Kat sighed as she replaced the button-hook on her dresser. That had not gone well. The man had tried not to make eye contact the entire conversation and had been annoying no end, with a variation of 'that's none of my business' every time she had tried to explain, or a fake fit of coughing.  
  
She would be late if she didn't leave now, though. She grabbed her sewing bag and shoved Spot's sweater into it. Melissa would, undoubtedly, find this hilarious and bother her about it for ages. Oh, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles.  
  
Kat started out on the walk to Brooklyn whistling...or, at least, practicing. She never really could whistle, and she never practiced around the boys...so, needless to say, she hadn't really gotten any better. On her way past the docks to Melissa's house, a flash of gold caught her eye and she turned to see Spot talking to Jack, Boots, and some other boy that Kat had never seen before. Kat figured it was as good a time as any for her to drop off the sweater.  
  
As she walked towards them, however, she became annoyed. Jack's shirt was a mess, he had a cigarette in his hands and Spot was shooting at bottles again, in rather close proximity.  
  
"SPOT CONLON!" Kat's voice had a sharp edge that made Spot jump and almost loose the marble he had in his hand. All four boys turned to the short girl and Jack covered his cigarette with his free hand. She marched right up to Jack, grabbed the cigarette out of his hand, confiscated Spot's sling-shot and then stood back, whirling to face the group.  
  
"Jack. Kelly." Kat was glowering while she held the cigarette up for public inspection. "What is this?"  
  
"A smoke..." Jack answered lamely, trying to look somewhat flippant, and not really pulling it off.  
  
"Oh? Really? How very interesting. Then you wouldn't mind me having your pack that you PROMISED me you'd throw out?" Kat held out her hand impatiently.  
  
Spot snickered, but then straitened his face out immediately when Kat turned to stare him down.  
  
Jack drew out half a pack of cigarettes and dropped them, reluctantly, in Kat's hand.  
  
Kat still held out her hand.  
  
Jack took out a quarter of a pack from his breast pocket.  
  
Kat still held out her hand.  
  
Jack sighed and took out the last pack, a full pack, out of his shirt front.  
  
Kat didn't smile. She dumped every single one in the river before stepping in front of Spot.  
  
"If I see you shooting at bottles that close to you again, Spot, I swear, I'll take you over my knee and whip the living tar out of you!"  
  
In the back of his head, Spot didn't doubt a single word of it.  
  
"You know damn well that was how Blink lost his eye. I WAS THERE! I had to take the poor boy to the doctor!"  
  
"Yes, Kat..." Spot mumbled. Now he really did feel guilty. Blink had always been one of his best friends, despite his somewhat limited brain capacity, he was a nice guy.  
  
Kat merely looked at Boots and harrumphed. "Jack, if you bring Boots to Brooklyn again without more than three Newsies..."  
  
Boots looked offended. "Kat, I's eleven!"  
  
"Yes! And I'm fifteen! I wouldn't let a cat I hated to go into Brooklyn by itself!"  
  
The other boy that had been standing with them coughed, somewhat amused. "Pleased to meet you, miss. My name's David. David Jacobs."  
  
Kat looked at the boy defiantly. "Pleasure's all mine. You may call my Katerina," She retorted coldly.  
  
"Are you these boys' mother?" David asked, smiling superciliously.  
  
"Yes. Temporarily," She sniffed and dug the dark-green sweater out of her sewing bag. "Spot, dearie, this is for you." David snickered behind her back, and Kat ignored it. "Do try and make it last longer than your other one. Two months isn't very long for a sweater."  
  
"Yes, Kat," Spot gave her a peck on the cheek. "T'anks. I was awful cold yestaday."  
  
David tried to contain his laughter. Jack made a quick sign across his neck over the top of Kat's head, and David stopped.  
  
If Jack Kelly was afraid of getting a beating from this girl—David mentally corrected himself—his mother, then David didn't really want to try his luck...or his laughter.  
  
"So, what are all of you boys doing up here?" Kat asked, noticing the signal from Jack.  
  
Everybody started talking at once.  
  
"Well, first, the Weasel..."  
  
"And then me boidies said dat..."  
  
"And all I wanted was to get out of my homework..."  
  
"I didn't even wanna go ta Brooklyn, I mean..."  
  
"QUIET!" Kat cleared her throat and pointed at Spot. "You, start."  
  
"Well," Spot started, shifting from one foot to the other. "I got up dis moanin' and when me and me boys got ta da distribution centah da papes cost moah. Ten cents a hundred! I was mad, but I gots ta make a livin', right? I go and slam down a dollah eighty, givin' da guy at da countah de eye...ya know? Den, latah, I heah's dat da price's been raised oal around da city. I was angry, but it's OK, ya know, if dey's bein' fair about it and raisin' da price foah everyone." Spot stopped to take a deep breath.  
  
"Latah, I sold oal a me papes, like always, and I heah from one a me boys dat Jacky's boys are going on strike. I don't believe it, until I see dese boys come up, with dis walkin' mouth 'ere," Spot pointed to David, "And ask me if I wanna join da strike."  
  
Kat looked at Spot for a minute, considering all of this, then turned to Jack. "You, your turn."  
  
"We got's tagetha and decided dat we couldn't win if we only had the Manhattan boys. So, we's sendin' out oal da boys ta see if anyone else's gonna join. We was just askin' Spot here..."  
  
"Got it." Kat commanded, "Stop." She looked Spot in the eye. "Well?"  
  
Spot looked slightly befuddled. "Well what?"  
  
"Are you going to join?" Kat demanded, picking up her sewing bag. When Spot didn't answer immediately, Kat started tapping her foot impatiently. "I don't have all day. I have to go see Melissa, Spot..." Kat trialed off meaningfully.  
  
Spot looked a little huffy. "Well, I don't...I...I's gotta think..." Kat raised an eyebrow. "FINE! I'll join!"  
  
"Good for you." Kat answered, starting to walk off. Before she had gone far she called over her shoulder. "Jack, take Boots back to Manhattan, and I'll say hi to Melissa for you, Spot."  
  
Kat stopped and smiled. "David?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am?"  
  
"You may call me Kat." 


End file.
